


Butterfly Caught

by skyline



Category: Human Target (TV 2010)
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-01
Updated: 2010-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was this thing about working for Christopher Chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterfly Caught

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for one of those drabble fic memes on LJ, where you set your iPod on shuffle and write fic with a word count that matches song length? Yeaaah. I wasn't going to post these here, but by special request: tada!

There was this thing about working for Christopher Chance. That name- oh, it fit him so much better than Junior. There was nothing _Junior_ about him, but Guerrero didn’t like to think about that. It brought to mind a darker time, one where his loyalties weren’t quite set in stone yet. 

One where he wasn’t quite sure what loyalty was yet. 

Anyway, none of that mattered. What mattered, with the working- an honest day’s work, or as honest as it had ever gotten for him, and how ridiculous was that- was the danger. Of course, Guerrero had never had a job that didn’t come with a side order of danger. It was like, a requisite. But usually, Guerrero was the one in danger. He was the one diving out of planes and hijacking cars and blowing up trains. Having someone else do the job was- well, weird. And dude, it wasn’t like he couldn’t cope with weird. He could. He did. Often. And he even understood why he shouldn’t be the one strapping on a parachute and taking on The Man, because dudes with families, yeah, they couldn’t afford bringing down the full wrath of the United States Private Defense Sector on their heads. But still- fucking weird, man.

Because _not_ being the one in danger, not being the one constantly on the run meant he had to stay home and wait, like a fucking World War II army sweetheart, or a sailor’s wife, waiting up on his own personal Widow’s Walk and staring off into the distance. He had to wait for Chance to come back from his adventures, and something about that didn’t sit right with him.

At first, and he’d really hoped this was the reason, because all the other reasons his _brilliant_ \- did he mention he was a genius- mind came up with were shit. Like, shit, man. So yeah, this first reason was that maybe he was jealous. Maybe he still wanted a slice of the action, because the adrenaline high that brought on was always killer. But no. Guerrero thought about it, long and hard, and he was kind of sick of action. He’d had enough of throwing himself head first into situations- or well, that wasn’t it, but he’d certainly had enough of doing it without being _paid_ an exorbitant sum. Saving people, unless those people actually mattered- and so few people did- wasn’t his thing. So yeah, Chance could have that. He’d stick to the more subtle dangers of the job, the sneaking, the hacking, the clandestine meetings in back alleys the rest of the world had forgotten about. 

Which left him with all the bad reasons, all the ones he didn’t like to think about. For a while, he tucked them into the back of his mind, with the past, hoping they’d stay there and get all cobwebby and maybe he’d think about them when he got really fucking old someday. 

But like, that didn’t really work out. 

Turns out, he had to think about all of this shit, about the reasons Chance putting himself in danger, playing knight in shining armor to all these hapless gals and guys who should’ve known better than to let themselves sink so deep into shit that there was no possibility of wading out solo, and it sucked. He thought and thought, fucked with Winston some more because he could and it was fun and simple, and right now he was really missing things being simple- although he couldn’t really recall a time when they had been. Then he thought some more, and when he figured it out, well, he thought about _not thinking_ about it again, but look how well that had worked out so far. 

And like, okay, the idea that he was worried about Chance wasn’t all that terrifying, even if he wasn’t used to worrying about people who weren’t himself- and actually, he didn’t even worry about himself much because he sort of thought he was a bit of a dick and really didn’t understand why people put up with him when he wasn’t holding a gun to their heads- even if it was weird. Again. But the thing was that he wasn’t worried like you were supposed to for friends.

Friends, he had those, also fucking weird.

But he was worried like- like… 

Ah, shit. Maybe not thinking about it was the way to go.


End file.
